Playpen

The air brings you novel sound, you sample its metal
You hear roars, heed the clamour
They are urgent, they say the world is your stage
You hope, seek, contend. You hear rhythm and song
You heave, snatch, fumble, sweat, slide
You tire, feel that first depletion, experience doubt
Yet still you thrust, claw, stretch, barrel
You heed the calls, listen to soft whispers. You wonder why they sometimes withdraw
They say this is all, your totality
You taste salt on your lip, feel blood pounding
You pause. Stand still. Wonder why the voices abandon. Finally, you steal a look
You see no faces, only folds of black, yet you hear their screams
They say this is a crucible, a test of your hopes
You know their urgency is empty. This a mausoleum, a trap for your dreams
You snap past the towers of noise and gaze forever upwards
They fall silent
You leap and reach
You make a claim upon the heavens. You smile. Your grasp claims nothing
You fall, taste earth, clutch the dirt.
You listen to muffled tongues, mutters that retreat. Before your closing eyes you see shadows lengthen and their darkness merge.